


Don't Ask, Don't Tell/Don't Ask, Don't Care

by elrhiarhodan



Category: White Collar
Genre: DADT Repeal, Love, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Modern Military A/U, Romance, Slash, otp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2013-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-16 08:42:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/860173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Admiral Peter Burke is having a bad day.  He walks into a dive bar off of K Street in Washington and meets Commander Neal Caffrey.  To say they hit it off would be a vast understatement.  And that’s going a problem of monumental proportions for both men.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Ask, Don't Tell/Don't Ask, Don't Care

**Author's Note:**

> Republished in honor of the two recent SCOTUS decisions, repealing key parts of DOMA and rebuking the anti-marriage equality forces in California who tried to force the state to defend Proposition 8.
> 
> ________________________________________
> 
> Writing White Collar fic, I am doubly blessed with a canon that actively embraces LGBT characters without making them caricatures, and it’s a show set in a city famed for its tolerance. When I slash Peter and Neal, or any other m/m or f/f or m/f/m pairing, I do so without concern for cultural repercussions. Peter and Neal may have to deal with the legal ramifications of a handler and his CI in a sexual relationship, but they never worry about coming out, about discrimination or loss of the love and support of friends and family _because_ they are gay or bi-sexual. It’s a delightful fantasy that so many of my fellow writers share. It’s also a testament and a path towards tolerance.
> 
> But creating a plausible A/U where Peter and Neal cannot be who they are, that their very life and livelihoods depend on maintaining this secret, where they can’t just say “fuck conventional morality” and live their lives in the daylight was an eye-opening experience. 
> 
> The history of the Act and its repeal is complex and compelling, and hoped to do it justice in the story you just about to read.

**10:42 pm, September 19, 2011**

The door to his study opened. “You’re late, Caffrey.” Peter didn’t bother looking up from the report he was reviewing. Neal was the only other person who had a key and the codes to access his Crystal City apartment. He was supposed to be home four hours ago.

“Are you going to flog me and throw me in the brig, Admiral?”

“Don’t tempt me, Commander.” Peter growled. He tried to give his attention to the report in front of him, it was important. All of these reports were, but he’d been reading since eight, and there was no end in sight. He shut the binder (why, in this day and age, were these things actually printed?) and turned his attention to Neal.

The other man was sitting in the leather club chair in front of the fireplace, uniform jacket unbuttoned; tie loosened, bare feet resting on an ottoman, his hat tossed onto a couch. Neal in repose was always a sight to be appreciated.

“What kept you?” Peter knew he wasn’t going to get a straight answer. 

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you, curiosity killed the cat?” 

There was something in Neal’s voice that troubled him. “This particular cat has nine lives, Commander.”

“And a few have already been expended. I’d hate for you to lose another.”

“Okay, okay. Is everything all right?” It really wasn’t like Neal to be this late and not contact him, especially tonight.

“Yeah. Nothing to worry about.” 

Whenever Neal said that, Peter knew he should probably start worrying, but unless Neal volunteered the information, he had no choice but to believe him, for the moment.

Peter got up and joined Neal by the fireplace. It was a little chilly in the room, so he pressed a button and flames shot to life. He adjusted the gas flow and opened the doors to let some heat out.

Neal gave an appreciative sigh. “Some day, I’d like to have a real fireplace. One with wood and crackling embers.”

“And maybe a dog and one of those long handled metal baskets to roast chestnuts?”

“Hmm, yeah.”

“Ever eat a chestnut?”

Neal kept his head tilted back, eyes closed. “Nope, but I love how they smell.”

“They’re pretty tasteless. Once you finish burning your fingers and your tongue, there’s really no flavor.”

Neal turned his head and looked at Peter. “Do you have to ruin _all_ my fantasies?”

Peter gave him a bright, quick smile. “Some fantasies are better when they remain fantasies.” He went over to the bar and poured a glass of wine for Neal and took a beer for himself. “But having a real fireplace and a dog is a good dream. Especially when you have someone to share it with.” He handed Neal the glass, their fingers touching for just a second.

Neal took it, and made a toast. “To you, Peter.”

He responded, with equal simplicity. “And to you, Neal.” 

Their journey to this warm, quiet room wasn’t easy.

__________________

**Mid-March, 2008**

It started in a small, dark bar off of K Street in Georgetown. 

In a neighborhood filled with high powered watering holes and four-star restaurants, that place was a refuge from the powerful and the power-brokers. _Mozzie’s_ wasn’t precisely a dive bar, but it wasn’t ever going to be featured on tourist maps and guidebooks either. It was also just the type of place that Peter needed after an awful day.

He sat there, hunched over, his thumb rubbing the newly empty space on his ring finger, regrets and memories tying him in knots. The bartender, a short, bald man with thick glasses, pushed a fresh bottle of beer over to him, his third of the night. Peter took a sip, than another before he realized that the man on the stool next to him was watching. 

“Bad day?”

He thought about not answering. In fact, it would be a good idea not to answer. People with his level of security clearance should not be talking to strangers in bars. He looked the man over, his face was indistinguishable in the darkness, but his eyes glowed an uncanny blue.

“Yeah, very bad day.”

“That’s what usually brings people into _Mozzie’s_. Bad days, bad lives.”

“And you? Are you having a bad day or a bad life?”

“Bad day, but I’ll get over it.” The reply was filled with false cheer.

Peter took another sip of his beer. “What do you do to get over a bad life?”

“That, my friend, is not a question I can answer.”

Peter couldn’t think of anything to say and then his cell phone rang. By the time he got off the call – something totally unnecessary, the stranger was gone.

It took another two weeks of bad days before Peter found his way back to that strange little place. The bartender didn’t even wait for him to place an order, he just pushed a bottle in front of him, gave him a fresh bowl of pretzels and took a four dollar tip out of the twenty Peter had given him. He shook his head in bemusement. 

This place – it was almost like Narnia for grown-ups.

He must have been there for an hour and was once again working on a third beer when he felt a pair of eyes on him.

“Still having a bad life?”

The light in the bar, at least in this seat, was a little better than last time, and Peter stifled a gasp when he looked at the man sitting next to him. All he could think was if God existed, he was having a very good day when this man was conceived.

“Yeah, in so many different ways. You?”

“Bad doesn’t even begin to describe it.” 

The little bartender came over with a bottle of wine and a glass. “Enjoy.” His tone was flat and clearly sarcastic.

“You know him?”

“Hmmm. We go back a ways.”

The other man tilted his head towards a recently vacated booth. “I could use a friendly ear – feel like talking or listening?”

“Sure.” They migrated over to the table and it felt like something clandestine, forbidden and Peter was struck with the thought that he should run. _Run now_. He sat down, instead, and asked inanely, “Are you going to offer to murder my wife, if I kill yours?”

“A fan of Hitchcock. How could you know that ‘Strangers on a Train’ is one of my favorite movies?” The man grinned and it seemed like all of the light in the bar was shining out of him. “Neal Caffrey, and no – I have no wife for you to murder.” He held out a hand.

“Peter Burke.” He shook Neal’s hand. It was an odd feeling to leave off his rank. It had been so long since he socialized outside of the tight knit Pentagon community. “That’s good, because I don’t have a wife anymore. Not that she ever needed murdering.”

Neal took a sip of his wine, and Peter couldn’t help but notice that he watched him like a hawk, eyes never leaving his face. It was disconcerting. “So – you wanted a friendly ear?”

Neal dropped his eyes and sighed. “Yeah. I’m just feeling a little sorry for myself.”

“You needed someone to join the pity party?”

Neal laughed. “That’s one way of putting it.” 

Peter decided that if this was a trap, he should at least play along and see where it led. “Why _are_ you feeling sorry for yourself.”

“I hate my job. I hate it with a passion.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a lawyer, a prosecutor.”

“Justice Department?” These days, under this administration, there was little honor and less justice to be had there.

Neal shook his head. “No.”

“You work for the District?” That seemed unlikely. Civilians were not ordinarily K Street habitués.

“No. I’m JAG.”

That set Peter back. Something must have shown on his face.

“What?” 

“Sorry – you don’t look like career military.”

Neal grimaced, a sharp twist of the lips. “Don’t judge a book by its cover. I flew two tours over in the Gulf before I bailed out for a full ride at Harvard Law. Got to give the Navy another four years before I can get out for good.”

Peter just asked “So what’s the problem?”

Neal emptied his glass, filled it and half emptied it again. “I helped destroy a man’s career and his life today.”

“You convicted an innocent man?”

“No, not quite. I railroaded a man out of the Service because a bigoted, nosy neighbor decided to file a report with the man’s commanding officer under DADT.”

A lump of ice formed in Peter’s stomach. He knew just what Neal was talking about. “DADT?”

“Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. Surely you’ve heard of it?”

Peter nodded, he’d more than heard of it. “What happened?”

“An Air Force major, living in off-base housing was brought up on charges of having an inappropriate relationship with a person of the same sex. He wasn’t ‘out’ by any stretch of the imagination. But his neighbor took a dislike to him – something to do with the major’s golden retriever pissing on his petunias.” Neal finished his glass of wine, looked at the bottle and poured himself another.

“Anyway – the major was in a relationship, and was Skyping and instant messaging with his partner. He never secured his Wi-Fi connection. The neighbor eavesdropped, captured the conversations, none of which were explicit – and reported the man to his commanding officer.”

Neal paused and swallowed. “And so, today was the nadir of my career. I forced this poor man to accept a General Discharge or face a court martial, even though he didn’t do a damn thing wrong. The Air Force loses an experienced and highly decorated officer all because we can’t have _those people_ in the military.”

Peter didn’t say anything. He’d been discreetly following this case since word of it had made its way through the General Staff. The current administration’s position was intractable and he’d learned to keep his mouth shut.

“What? You agree that gays don’t belong in the military?” Neal’s voice had risen with anger and desperation.

“Whatever I believe is irrelevant. It’s the law.” Peter strove for an even tone.

“And laws need to be enforced.” Neal was bitter.

“I guess I’m not the sympathetic ear you were looking for.”

Neal shrugged. “I guess it doesn’t matter. This is Washington, the home of bigots and bureaucrats. It’s not the Athens of the Potomac. Not anymore.”

Peter was highly sympathetic; he just couldn’t let it show. 

A fresh bottle for each of them had miraculously appeared at the table and Peter watched the retreating back of the bartender. “How the hell did he do that? Does he have some sort of alcoholic sixth sense?”

Neal shook his head. “Like I said, I’ve known him for years. But I still haven’t figured him out.”

They talked, and by tacit agreement, didn’t revisit the issue that had so troubled Neal. Peter couldn’t remember the range of topics they did discuss, but he found himself intellectually stimulated in ways he hadn’t been in years. They were so involved with their conversation that the rest of the bar, the rest of the outside world ceased to exist. It wasn’t until someone was standing next to the booth and clearing his throat that Peter realized what time it was.”

“Unless you want to stay and sleep on the floor, gentlemen, you may want to leave. I’m closing.” Mozzie the bartender announced.

Peter looked at his watch – it was almost two am. 

Neal got up, fished out a pair of fifty dollar bills, dropped them on the table and walked unsteadily to the men’s room. “Moz, be a pal and call a cab for me?”

Peter followed, his bladder was uncomfortably full.

There was always something weird about pissing next to someone you knew. You didn’t look, you didn’t dare look. But hell, you had to. And Neal was … impressive. More than a handful, even flaccid.

“Ahh, gods. You know, you only rent a fine Bordeaux.” Neal commented as shook the last drops off. He tucked himself in, wash up and turned to Peter, who was just finishing. “I’m heading over to Arlington, if you’re going in that direction, I’ll be more than happy to share the ride.”

Peter nodded. “That would be great.” He washed up too and by the time they left the bar, there was a Town Car waiting.

Peter had no intention of giving Neal his address, but was shocked when the man directed the driver to the Concord Apartments in Crystal City. “How did you know?”

“How did I know what?”

“Where I live.” Maybe he was just too drunk, because nothing was really making any sense.

Neal spoke slowly. “I have no idea where you live. I live in the Concord. Moved here six months ago.”

“I live in the Concord too.” Peter wondered if he was being set up. “Small world.”

Neal shifted in his seat, as if he were uncomfortable. “I don’t know what’s going on here…”

“Hey – you approached me.” Peter reminded him.

“Yeah. Yeah – I did.”

“And what are you so worried about?” Working in the upper echelons at the Pentagon gave Peter the right to worry about spies and entrapment, but why would a JAG attorney be concerned about who he shared a cab ride home with?

Neal didn’t say anything; he just looked at him with wide, unblinking eyes.

The light dawned. “Oh.”

“Look – I…”

Peter was still wary, but a little less so now. “Don’t worry about it. I think we were both a little indiscreet this evening.”

“Both? I was the one who …”

“Neal. Shut up. Just shut up.”

The other man tucked his chin down, and in the flickering darkness, Peter thought he looked like a fallen angel. And he wanted to kiss him, badly.

The ride was both an eternity too long and as short as a single breath. Peter paid the driver, Neal tipped him and they both got out into a cool spring night. He inhaled, trying to clear his head. Neal stood there, hands shoved in his pockets, looking anywhere but at Peter.

“Hey – we did nothing wrong. We’re two strangers who sat together and shared a drink. Nothing for you, or anyone, to be worried about.”

Neal finally looked up. “Yeah, but my intentions...”

Peter pushed him towards the door. The night shift doorman asked for ID and Peter swiped his resident card. When the man greeted him, “Admiral, I hope you had a good night,” Neal fumbled for his wallet and nearly dropped it when he looked at Peter, an appalled expression on his face.

_Damn_.

Neal finally produced his own resident ID card and followed Peter into the lobby. 

Peter squeezed Neal’s forearm. “Look – go home. Go to bed. Just forget about this evening, okay? It’s not as if anything happened.”

Neal nodded, clearly miserable and frightened.

Before he turned and headed for his bank of elevators, Peter thought he heard Neal whisper. “But I wish something did.”

_So did I, so did I_.

__________________

**11:01 pm, September 19, 2011**

“You’re very quiet.” Peter noted. Not that Neal was ever particularly talkative. He never felt the need to fill the air. But tonight – a night when they were supposed to be celebrating, he seemed off. “Everything okay?”

“That’s the second time you’ve asked me that in the space of a half-hour.”

“Maybe because I don’t believe you? Aren’t I allowed to worry?”

Neal sighed. “Sorry, Peter. It’s just … awful.”

“Is it Merkelson?” Peter named the senior JAG officer that Neal had had problems with over the last few years.

“And then some. He dropped another sexual misconduct prosecution on my desk tonight - an airman in Korea may or may not have inappropriately touched another airman’s hand in the mess.”

“Tonight?”

“Yeah. And it was deliberate.” The disgust in Neal’s tone spoke volumes.

“What, is he crazy?”

“’The law’s the law, Caffrey. If these perverts think they can play hide the sausage in the shitter and remain in the U.S. Military, they’ve got another thing coming.’” Neal’s voice took on the affected tones of his bigoted boss, who had made it his mandate to have gay service personnel discharged under DADT and was determined to keep doing it, even though the Department of Defense had declared it would comply with the California Federal District Court’s injunction.

“Doesn’t he realize…”

Neal cut him off. “He knows, but he thinks that he can continue the prosecution anyway. If he can’t use DADT, he wants me to prosecute under Sexual Misconduct and Conduct Unbecoming.” Neal scrubbed his face. “Peter, I’ve got to get out of this. I don’t know if I can take another six months.”

Peter didn’t know what to tell Neal. They had talked about a transfer, but unless Neal wanted to leave DC, there was little opportunity for him to find another position.

__________________

**Late April, 2008**

In the six weeks since that night at _Mozzie’s_ , Peter couldn’t stop thinking about Neal. He’d become an obsession. A very unhealthy one. 

The morning after, Peter looked up his service record. Commander Neal Caffrey was an Annapolis graduate with honors, and he went right on to flight school. As Neal had said, he did two tours in the Persian Gulf, flying tactical support on bombing raids over Iraq and then Afghanistan. The list of service commendations was impressive. Graduated top of his class at Harvard and at the Naval Justice School in Newport, Rhode Island. He had four more years to give the Navy to complete his commitment. 

Peter closed the record and tried to forget. 

It was almost impossible. 

It didn’t help that Neal lived in the same building and Peter hoped and feared that he could run into him at any time. Except that the Concord was like a small city and the odds of seeing Neal were statistically impossible, since he lived on the other side of the building. But still, Peter kept his eyes open for a head of dark hair, pale skin and a pair of pale blue eyes.

He didn’t go back to _Mozzie’s_ , though. That would be too dangerous, for more than the obvious reasons. Peter realized that since his divorce, he was drinking too much – out of boredom, aggravation and disgust. The self-medicating had given him the start of an ugly beer gut and an uglier set of man boobs. He was offended by himself and started working out in the apartment building’s excellent gym. There were a lot of fine young things to look at, to keep him motivated and none of them, (thankfully and unfortunately), were Neal.

Tonight, though, he was going for a swim. The extra weight was replaced by a layer of muscle and Peter felt he looked good enough to go without his shirt again. The swimming pool had been one of the attractions that sold him on this building – it wasn’t a dank, smelly facility in the apartment building’s basement. The pool was on the middle floors, surrounded by windows and skylights – as close to being outdoors as possible.

Tonight, there was just one other person doing laps and the rest of the pool area was deserted. Peter shed his robe, donned his goggles and dove in. The water felt good, exhilarating, and he cut effortlessly through the water. Ten laps, then twenty, and he was able to let his mind go as his body moved without thought. At some point, he had matched the other swimmer’s stroke and pace and they were moving in accidental synchronization. 

Peter lost count, maybe a hundred laps and he was beginning to feel winded. Another twenty-five laps, and his arms were like lead, his shoulders and legs burning, but the man next to him was still going strong, and Peter pushed himself to stay on the pace.

Until his right leg cramped and he couldn’t move. Peter was unable to turn over fast enough and he swallowed a mouthful of water. He choked and swallowed more, his other leg cramped and he felt himself sinking and losing consciousness. 

A pair of strong arms grabbed him and pulled his head above water. Peter tried not to fight as he was pulled the few short feet to the pool’s edge.

He clung to the rough stone, letting his body float and the muscles relax.

“Are you all right?” He thought he recognized that voice through the ringing in his ears. He coughed, expelling the last bit of water in his throat and he lost his grip on the edge.

A hand steadied him and the question was repeated. “Are you all right?”

Peter turned to face his rescuer. Of course he recognized the voice. And of course it would be Neal.

“Yeah.” His own voice was scratchy from the water he inhaled. “Thank you.” He pulled his way towards the ladder and managed to climb out. Thankfully, his legs carried him to an empty lounge chair. What a dumb old fool. 

Neal must have followed him out of the water. A hand with a towel appeared in front of his face. He took it and with pretend nonchalance, dried off.

Neal didn’t move and Peter couldn’t ignore him anymore. He looked up at him. “Thank you. I’m thinking that you saved my life.” 

The slightest hint of a smile curved Neal’s lips. “Isn’t it the sailor’s ultimate nightmare, to drown on dry land?”

Peter smiled back. “How have you been?”

“Good, okay. Not bad, I guess.”

Peter gave a short bark of laughter. “Which is it?”

“All of the above?” Neal wrapped a towel around his waist and sat down next to Peter. “I’ve been looking for you. I wanted to see you again so badly it hurt.”

That simple sentence rocked his world. “Neal…”

“I know, I know. I’m being stupid and indiscreet and you’re probably thinking you should punch me in the face or do some other manly thing to signify your rejection.” He finished in a breathless huff.

“Neal…” Peter repeated. “This is foolish.”

“I know. We could end up …”

“No, I mean _this_ is foolish. Sitting here, wet and cold. Come back to my apartment. We’ll talk there.” He couldn’t believe those words came out of his mouth.

“Are you sure?” Neal all but whispered.

“Do you want me to make it an order, Commander?”

Neal smiled. “Aye-aye, sir! Shall I snap to attention?” 

Peter grinned and looked Neal up and down, taking in the smooth, hairless chest that could have been sculpted by Michelangelo. “I don’t think that would be such a good idea, _here_.”

They put on their robes and headed for the escalator. When Peter swiped his card to access the penthouse level apartments, Neal raised an eyebrow. “I’d like your pay grade, Admiral.”

Peter didn’t know why the statement irked him, or why he even felt the need to respond. “I’ve earned it. I’ve lived a lie for almost thirty fucking years, I’ve earned it.”

“Somehow, I don’t think there was a lot of fucking involved.”

“And you’re worried about _my_ lack of discretion?” Peter shook his head, exasperated.

The elevator gave a melodious chime, signaling their arrival. The walk to his apartment was conducted in silence and he opened the door, letting Neal precede him. He shut the door, engaged the lock and fell on Neal like a ravening wolf.

He felt like he was going crazy. “Is this what you want?” He pushed the younger man back against the door, pinning him with his hips, his hot, aching erection burning through the thin material of his swimsuit. “Is it?” 

“Peter…” 

The sound of his name on Neal’s lips, begging, breathless, made him a little more insane. He pushed the robe off of Neal’s shoulder and put his mouth on the sweet spot between his neck and his ear. Neal’s skin was cool, then hot. He tasted a little like chlorine and a lot like heaven. Peter wanted to bite, to mark, to show the world his possession. But he didn’t – he wasn’t that far gone.

“Tell me you want this. Tell me.”

“Yes, please, God – yes.”

He finally let Neal step back from the door and take off his robe, his cock so erect that the head was poking out of his Speedo. Peter was shocked at the ferocity of his desire. He wanted to push Neal to the floor, to take him without thought or consideration, the word _mine – mine – mine_ pounding in time with his heart. He forced himself to slow down, to take it easy.

Anger, desire – never a good combination – made him incautious, and he asked again. “You want this, you want me?”

“Yes. Yes.”

He pulled Neal into the bedroom, with its king-sized bed and bank of floor to ceiling windows. It wasn’t dark; the lights from the Capitol, the Monuments, the Mall cast a glow over the room. He stripped, struggling not to castrate himself with his still-damp swimsuit. Neal managed to get out of his in one graceful movement and stood by the bed, looking as nervous as a gazelle in a lion’s den.

Until he met Neal’s eyes, glowing and blue and filled with wicked promise.

Peter smiled, and he knew it wasn’t a nice one. He took one step, then another, tumbling them both onto the bed.

“Tell me you want this.” That question again burst from his lips. Peter didn’t even know if he could ever stop asking. “Tell me.”

“I want you, I want this.” 

Neal’s head fell back against the pillows, his dark hair haloed by the pure white cotton. Peter set his teeth against his throat, his neck, the delicate lobe of his ear, closing gently, careful not to leave visible marks. Neal moved in restless waves beneath him, their bodies aligned, unjoined.

He released the precious flesh. “Tell me you want this.” Peter whispered against Neal’s skin, cool marble clothed in hot silk and velvet. “Tell me.”

“Yes, yes.” Neal repeated, a whine of desire.

He flipped Neal onto his stomach, but he wasn’t going to take him - not yet. Peter wanted to explore, to learn, to gather all that was Neal Caffrey into him. 

It could have been Neal’s body that sent Peter’s senses into overdrive. He was like some beautiful, fey creature - narrow, not small, perfectly built. He still had the body of a fighter pilot, lean and compact, sharply defined but not grossly bulked up. 

But it wasn’t Neal’s body. It was the back of his head - his dark curls still damp, exposing the nape of his neck. That delicious point where a man’s strength meets vulnerability. 

Peter leaned over and pressed a kiss at that spot, flicking out his tongue, tasting again the residue from the swimming pool and the faint musk of new perspiration. The feel of those damp curls against his nose, so innocent, incited some atavistic, possessive beast in him. He fit his body onto Neal’s, his cock riding that hot, sweet crack. Neal shifted restlessly.

Peter had to ask again, “You want this?” He held his breath, waiting for the answer.

It was the same as the last time he asked, and the same as the time before that. “Yes, Peter, please. I want this, I want _you_.” Neal’s voice rose and fell like his hips against Peter’s body. “I want you, I need you. Please.”

As desperate as Neal sounded, Peter wanted to toy with him, to play, to drive them both insane. It had been so goddamned long. 

He pressed one hand on the middle of Neal’s back, pressing him down into the mattress, impressing his strength on Neal. Neal stiffened, pushed back, refusing to fully submit. He pressed a little harder and Neal began to thrash, to fight him.

“Peter - let me go.”

He did instantly, moving completely off of Neal’s body. Neal flipped over, panting; there was a wariness in his eyes now. Peter felt his desire flag, then die. “I’m -- I’m sorry. I --” Words failed him. He had crossed the line.

“No - no. I just…” Neal stopped, grimaced. “I want this. I just … I’ve never done this before.” It all came out in a rush. Neal ducked his head.

Peter was appalled. Not at Neal - at himself. He’d just treated Neal like some anonymous guy he picked up in a club (and there was a dangerous time in his life when he’d do just that). It never occurred to him that Neal, a fellow officer deep in the closet, had such little experience.

“I don’t know what came over me - I’m not usually like this.”

“Like what?” Neal seemed genuinely curious.

“So possessive - I was like an animal.” Peter moved to get off the bed, to put some distance between them.

“Hey - no. Don’t go.” Neal held out a hand, grabbed his arm. Peter allowed himself to be pulled back. “I liked it. The last, though - I just wasn’t ready. Sorry for being such a girl.”

“I know a few girls who’d put you on the ground for saying that.”

Neal bit his lip and his eyelids dropped, those long and impossible lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. Peter licked his lips. There was nothing innocent about Neal, but the thought of being his first brought out that possessive beast in him again. “We’ll go slowly.”

“Slowly, I can do slowly.” Neal grinned and stretched out against the white bedding.

“You little shit - you’re going to drive me insane.” This time, Peter didn’t fall on him like an animal. He took his time, using his hands and mouth to build a fire in Neal, to make him want and know nothing that existed past this room.

Peter looked down at Neal’s cock, massively erect and tight against his belly. It was truly a thing of beauty and he thought about going down on him. His mouth watered, but they’d save that for later, because there would definitely be _a later_.

The lube and condoms in the night table drawer had been there since … years? He bought them one night after he moved in, when he thought that maybe - just maybe. But that was a stupid dream who was looking for a sugar daddy and Peter was no one’s daddy, sugar or otherwise. Neal writhed under him, impatient.

He soothed him. “Shh, shh. Gotta get you prepared. You want this? You still want this?” This time, the question wasn’t driven by compulsion, but by concern.

“Yes - don’t stop. I’ll die if you stop.” 

That was all he needed to hear. 

Neal spread his legs wide. It would be easier for both of them if Neal was on his belly, but for the first time, he wanted this face to face.

The slick was cool against his fingers and he warmed it before touching Neal. 

“Nnn, Peter … ” His finger met natural resistance.

“Relax, can you relax?”

Neal tried and Peter was able to breach him. He worked gently, slowly stretching the tight muscles, adding more lube and another finger. Neal bit his lip and Peter thought he’d never see anything more beautiful. More lube, a third finger and Neal’s hips were humping the air as he worked them back and forth.

“I want you - I want your cock.” Neal tried to pull himself up, grabbing at Peter’s arms.

“Okay - you’re sure?”

“Yes, damn it. I want you. How many times am I going to have to tell you?”

Peter felt a grin spread across his face. “You’re damn bossy for a junior officer.”

“Well excuse me, Admiral, sir. May I please have your cock, sir?”

The humor was as powerful an aphrodisiac as anything he’d ever experienced. Despite the differences in age, in experience (and hell, yes - even in rank), at this moment Peter knew that Neal was his equal. He’d take and give and take some more - which is just what he had longed for all his life, someone who’d complete him. And he had to laugh at himself - what was he, a lesbian? It wasn’t even the second date and he was thinking about the damned U-Haul.

Peter kissed him - slowly devouring that mouth, sass and all. Neal was rubbing himself against his belly, leaving hot streaks of pre-come on his skin. He lifted Neal’s leg over his hip and rubbed the tip of it against his slicked up hole. And pulled back.

Neal whimpered in distress. “Hold on, baby - gotta get my garrison cap on.” Peter tore the foil packet, sheathed himself and added some slick.

In that first moment of penetration, Neal’s erection began to flag and he bit his lip, but this time it wasn’t in thwarted desire.

“Sorry baby - it’s going to hurt, just a bit.” Peter forced himself to go slowly, achingly so, giving Neal time to adjust with each millimeter of penetration. 

They found their rhythm, slow, careful, like some exquisite tango. Neal was panting, urging him to go faster, wrapping his legs around his waist, drawing him closer. Peter resisted. “No, baby - don’t - I don’t want to hurt you.”

He kept up the long, slow thrusts, he wanted to imprint himself on Neal, he wanted this to never end. The slide of skin and slick and sweat, the taste of Neal, the scent of them, together was maddening. Once, long ago, Peter had trained for a HALO mission - he never forgot the rush of freefalling for miles, the exhilaration of the jerk and sudden snap of the parachute as it opened. This was even better.

Orgasm caught them both by surprise. Neal came first, his body clamping down tight on Peter, pulling it out of him, making the universe burn white.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

**11:35 pm, September 19, 2011**

“I’m going to come out. It’s the only way I can do this. It’s the only way to get around Merkelson and keep my sanity and what’s left of my soul.”

The tension in the room suddenly magnified.

“Neal – no, don’t. That would be a big mistake.” 

“Why? The bastard can’t do a damn thing to me anymore.” There was am edge of desperation in Neal’s voice.

“Maybe, maybe not. But didn’t you just say that the Colonel is looking to use Conduct Unbecoming and Sexual Misconduct as alternatives?”

“Yeah - but he’d still need grounds - and he’ll get none. You know that. The simple fact that I’m gay and out of the closet is no longer grounds for separation; you of all people should know that. And in any event, Merkelson knows I’m resigning my commission in February.”

Peter gave a frustrated sigh. “And he can make your life miserable for the next five months. You want to spend the time handling traffic violations in Dover? Or worse?” He hated to see Neal’s brilliant prospects die on the vine.

“Peter - prosecuting traffic violations would be a step up and out of the filth. In the last four years, I’ve participated in the prosecution of ninety-seven Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell cases. I wonder how I can look at myself in the mirror anymore.”

“I understand, baby. I just don’t want to see you do anything stupid. You deserve better than what’s going to happen to you if you do this.” Peter got up and sat on the edge of Neal’s chair, running a hand through his lover’s curls. 

Neal looked up at him. “If you’re worried that this will impact you, I won’t say anything.”

Peter shook his head. “That’s the last thing I’m concerned about. I just don’t want to see you hurt, see you screw your life up.” 

“I know, I know.” Neal turned his face into Peter’s palm, kissing it lightly. “Today is one giant step forward, but our legs are still shackled.”

__________________

**February, 2010**

“So, are you going to hire a date for the big White House dinner?”

Neal was lounging on their bed - well, his bed since Neal’s apartment was ten floors down and in a completely different quadrant of the building. But for all intents and purposes, Neal lived here, as dangerous as that may be for the two of them. 

And Peter wouldn’t have it any differently.

The question wasn’t nonchalant, but his answer was. “It’s already taken care of. She had to be cleared by State.”

“You don’t have any problems using a paid escort? A hooker?”

He took off his tie, opened his collar and looked at Neal from the mirror. He had a pillow tucked under his chin and looked like jailbait. “These women aren’t prostitutes, Neal.” 

“Maybe not for you, but for the straight guys they’re going out with, you’ve got to realize that sex is going to be part of the deal.”

Peter sighed and turned around. “But for me, sex is not part of the deal. There’s nothing to be jealous about.” 

“I’m not jealous.” Neal flipped over and buried his face in the pillow.

“No?” Peter sat down on the edge of the bed and rubbed a hand up and down Neal’s back. “There’s nothing to ever be jealous about. You can’t imagine that I’d ever …”

Neal turned back over and Peter’s resolve began to melt. 

“I know that, I wouldn’t ever think that you’d do anything like that. It’s just - just the thought of a stranger’s hands on you. Touching and thinking that maybe she’ll get lucky in the back seat of the limo. Thinking that even though this guy - this gorgeous guy with the kind eyes and sweet smile didn’t order any ‘extras’ - maybe he’s an old school gentleman who’ll whisk her away from this life.”

Peter heard the sincerity in every word, but it still wasn’t the whole truth. His lover had more layers than an onion. “And even if my ‘companion’ for the evening does think that - nothing is going to happen. She can be Helen of Troy and it wouldn’t make a difference to me.” 

Neal shook his head. “Peter - it’s not that, you know it. I hate the thought of her touching you in public like she has every right to. That it’s all right for you to hire a call girl - escort - whatever you want to name it, and it’s all right for everyone to know that she’s being paid by the hour or the evening, and it would kill your career if you walked into that ballroom and introduced me as your partner.” Neal lifted his chin and looked away. Peter could see the tears in his eyes.

He wrapped his arms around Neal, pulling the resisting body close. “Neal, baby - sometimes I forget.” Peter pressed a kiss onto his forehead. 

“You forget what?” The question was muffled, Neal had buried his face in the crook of Peter’s neck.

“I forget that you’ve never had to deal with this; that you’ve never been in a relationship like this. That you’ve never had to deal with the realities ...”

Neal pulled away. “What do you mean that I’ve never had to deal with the realities? I’ve been so deep in the closet that I was thirty-two years old before I really made love with another man. That I don’t understand? I see those god-damned fucking realities every day of my life. I spend most of my time prosecuting - excuse me - persecuting my fellow servicemen and women for the crime of not hiding who they are. How dare you say that to me!”

“Neal - that wasn’t what I meant.” Peter cursed himself - he did sound like a callous prick.

“Then what did you mean?” Peter wasn’t surprised at the anger in Neal’s voice.

“That you’re not accustomed to dealing with the _political_ realities of life in the power circle in Washington. Where even straight men will leave their real partners at home and take paid escorts because having a beautiful young thing on your arm makes you looks better to your rivals than the slightly overweight girlfriend who works for some think tank in Maryland.”

“You’re still not getting it, Peter. Those men _can_ bring their dumpy girlfriends if they had the balls to do so. You can’t bring me, you’ll never be able to acknowledge me or do anything more that accept my salute if we ever met in public. I’m invisible to the rest of the world, and damn it, it hurts. It hurts like hell.”

“Neal …” Peter reached for him again, but Neal pushed him away. There was nothing he could say that would make this any better. 

“Doesn’t it bother you that you have to do this?”

Peter sighed. “Of course it does. I was married for a decade just to keep the rumors away.” Elizabeth had been a good friend, and still was. Their marriage – such as it was – had benefited them both. In the ten years they were married, they cohabited for a mere eighteen months. She got the support she needed during some bad times and he got the beard he needed, one good enough to ensure his promotion to flag officer rank. The only thing he had made her promise was to tell him if she fell in love.

“Neal, I’m sorry, I am so sorry. I guess I’ve become so accustomed to the awful reality I didn’t realize the toll it was taking on you.”

From the expression on Neal’s face, he could see that this apology wasn’t cutting it. “I’m an ass - a jackass. It doesn’t bother me because I don’t let myself think about it. It’s completely separate from this - from us, and that’s wrong. Maybe I’m too much of a political animal - it should bother me. It should hurt every time I step out that door and leave you behind.”

“And it doesn’t?” The sadness in Neal’s voice was heartbreaking.

Peter looked at Neal, and met his eyes. “It does. It hurts like hell but I bury it. Like I bury everything else for the sake of my oaths and my country. I wish it were different, I wish I wasn’t who I am, I wish you weren’t who you were. I wish we could walk down a street and hold hands and have no one look or whisper. I wish I could do something as simple as walking into a ballroom with you at my side, instead of some candy floss bimbo I’m paying by the hour.”

“What would happen if you showed up without the arm candy?”

Peter shrugged. “At an industry function - probably nothing. At a political fundraiser - maybe a whisper or two if it was a constant thing, and for something as important as a State Dinner at the White House, there would certainly be talk.”

“And you can’t afford the slightest bit of innuendo, right?” There was a wealth of bitterness in that question. 

“Neither of us can. You know that.” 

“All too well.” But Neal really didn’t know just how dangerous any innuendo would be, to his career and his mission.

Peter swallowed. “I wish to hell I didn’t have to play these stupid games. Kissing ass is not something I enjoy.” He leaned over his lover, hand bracketing that beautiful face. “Neal - I know how much you hate this, don’t think I am insensitive to the cost of this hidden life.”

“I know - and I’m sorry too. I should be more understanding, I guess.” There was still a bit of sadness in Neal’s eyes, though.

“You know the President campaigned to repeal Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. It’s going to happen.”

Neal pushed him away and sat up. “And he has repeatedly refused to give any timeframes. Just another promise that’ll never be fulfilled.”

He wanted to tell Neal, tell him that he’d been appointed to the Comprehensive Review Working Group, that his mandate during this tour of duty was to examine the consequences of the repeal, the effect on morale in the elite branches of the Navy. But he couldn’t - his participation and that of his fellow flag officers was deemed Top Secret. Sometimes he wanted to die from the irony. 

“Neal, it’s going to happen because the world has changed and the Services need to change with it.” There - not a lie, just a misdirection.

“I’ll see it when I believe it.” Anger coated every word.

“Please believe, Neal. We have to have hope.”

Dinner that night was strained and when Neal said he’d prefer to sleep in his own bed, Peter just looked at him and said okay.

The next night wasn’t much better. Neal texted that he was working late, trial prep on a homicide case and didn’t want to be disturbed. Peter texted back that he understood, and got no response. He was uneasy and wanted to fix things, but he stopped himself from reaching out to Neal. There was only one way to make this right. 

Peter pulled the card for the escort service out of his wallet and dialed. It took a moment and several thousand dollars, but he cancelled his date for the State Dinner. He’d call the White House in the morning and let them know he would be attending alone.

So even if it was the end of them - if Neal called it quits between them, at least he did the right thing.

It turned out that Peter didn’t see Neal or hear from him for the rest of the week and by Friday night, he was exhausted - physically and emotionally. The week was grueling, he was working on his first presentation to the heads of the Working Group reviewing the repeal of DADT. It was going to be controversial and quite likely set him right in the line of fire for those who wanted to maintain the status quo, the old guard who still saw homosexuality as a deviancy to be rooted out and destroyed, in the name of “unit cohesion” and “troop morale.”

As tired as he was, Peter wasn’t looking forward to yet another night in an empty apartment, in that vast empty bed. For all his adult life, up until that April evening almost two years ago, he’d gone to sleep alone, woke up alone, lived alone, even when he was married. But since then, he had become accustomed to sharing his life - or the part of his life that no one could see. He missed Neal, the sound of his breathing, the warm scent of his body. The daily habits and annoyances of having another person underfoot. Even when their schedules didn’t mesh, there was always the expectation that he’d see Neal in the next twenty-four hours.

Now, there was nothing other than the sense that everything was broken. That he’d broken them. He thought about going over to Neal’s apartment, to at least try and apologize. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn’t notice the person standing next to him at the lobby elevator bank. 

“Good evening, Admiral.” Neal’s quiet voice was a welcome sound. Peter turned and let the smallest hint of a smile curve his lips.

“Evening, Commander. How are you?”

“Doing better, now.”

The express elevator for the penthouse floors chimed its arrival and Peter held out a hand for Neal to precede him. He swiped his access card and they rode up to his floor in silence. It reminded him of another elevator ride.

They didn’t say anything until they were inside and the door shut and locked.

They spoke at the same time. “Neal - I’ve got something I have to tell you.”

“Peter, I’m sorry.”

They tripped over themselves, each trying to speak.

“Neal - listen. I’ve cancelled my date for the State Dinner.”

“Peter - no. You said…”

“I know what I said, and it doesn’t matter. I have a choice - I can live a lie and make both of us miserable, or I can live as close to the truth as possible and I can have you in my life. You are too important to me. I’ll deal with the consequences.”

He pulled Neal into an embrace, sighing at the rightness of this man in his arms. 

“Peter, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I gave you that ultimatum.”

“Neal - you did no such thing. I don’t recall ever hearing the words ‘if you hire an escort I’m leaving you’ come from your mouth.”

“You’re wrong - I may not have used those exact words, but it was implied. I’ve been ashamed of myself all week.”

“It doesn’t matter what you said - you were right.”

“But …”

Peter kissed Neal, more to shut him up than anything. “But nothing. I love you, baby, and I’ve been a selfish bastard.”

Neal stepped back, a joyous expression on his face. “You love me?”

“Yes, Neal. I do, and I don’t know what I’d do without you. I can’t believe I’ve waited this long to tell you.”

Neal smiled, and Peter thought it was like a sunrise. “Thank God.” Neal kissed him, all sweetness and promise. “I love you too and I was so afraid you didn’t feel the same way.”

__________________

**11:46 pm, September 19, 2011**

“Neal, there’s something I need to tell you.” Peter hadn’t planned on saying anything tonight, but with Neal’s plans to tell his boss, he needed to know what was going on.

Neal looked up at him, worried. “What’s wrong?”

“I am retiring next year. I’ve been formally told that my promotion will not be presented to the Senate for confirmation in January.”

“But why?”

Peter shrugged. “A lot of things – the budgetary climate, the winding down in the Gulf, giving other officers the opportunity for promotion. Usual stuff. It happens. No promotion is ever a given.” He tried to sound nonchalant about it. But it did hurt.

“When?”

“Early February – right around the same time you get out.” The date was marked in black on his calendar. How different they were, Neal couldn’t wait to leave the Service.

“No, how long have you known?”

“A few weeks, unofficially. I was told formally last week. I didn’t want to say anything – I didn’t want to spoil our celebration tonight.”

Neal gave him a searching look. “It’s more than just the budgetary climate, isn’t it?”

“Neal…”

“Come on, Peter – I’m not stupid. It’s politics.”

Peter didn’t say anything. 

“It was your work – this is payback, right?”

“No, Neal. That wasn’t it, not at all.”

“Bullshit – they want you out for your work on the repeal.”

“Neal – can you please let this rest? We’ve got …” Peter looked at his watch. “Less than ten minutes until midnight.”

Neal looked like he wanted to continue the interrogation and then thought better of it. “Okay – for now. We have to celebrate.” 

Except that this celebration was going to be so very bittersweet.

__________________

**November 30, 2010**

Peter let himself into his apartment, tossing his cap on the hall table and dropping his briefcase on the floor underneath it. There was music playing in the living room. It was something ancient and complex, the rise and fall of a choir singing two verses simultaneously, the sour harmony of medieval instruments provided a melancholy counterpoint. Peter recognized the piece, _Ad Mortem Festinamus_ from _Le Llibre Vermeil de Monserrat_. Not his usual tastes, nor Neal’s, but a friend of Neal’s had given him tickets to an Early Music festival in Georgetown, and they both found it surprisingly enjoyable. Enough so that Neal had downloaded a few albums and added them to their joint music collection.

The track ended and something completely different began. His favorite Philip Glass composition. It still amazed him that they were so compatible on so many vectors. And to be able to come home to this, after such a long and difficult day.

Neal came out of the bedroom, dressed in a v-necked sweater and chinos. He’d been home for a while.

“Hey there.”

“Hey back.”

Peter pulled Neal into his arms and noticed the extra brightness in his eyes. “What’s up?” But he didn’t wait for an answer – he kissed him, savoring the sweetness of Neal’s lips, the warm, wine-scented breath.

Neal kissed him back, and desire escalated, the air was thick and hot. They danced around the furniture, a waltz of kisses, out of the room, down the hall and into the bedroom. Neal struggled to get his uniform jacket opened, to slide his hands up his back, down into his waistband.

They fell together onto the mattress and clothes went flying as the music changed again. Neal had an unholy love for Ravel’s _Boléro_ , and there were at least fifteen different versions on his iPod. They popped up at random, and with great frequency. It was a good thing that their home life was so private, because it had gotten to the point that they both had Pavlovian responses to the opening bars. 

Peter got Neal’s sweater off, his pants off and finally his briefs. He sat back, looking at his lover, naked but for a pair of black socks. Neal was casually stroking himself in time with the music. Peter didn’t bother getting out of his own clothes as he pushed Neal’s hand away and took his cock in his mouth.

It was a cliché (and a good one, for all that), but the other night, Neal had given him a blow job that started with the first notes of the flute and didn’t let him finish until the great finale – that eruption of brass and woodwinds and drums – started. He wasn’t a man given to competition – at least not in bed – but Peter wanted to return the pleasure, and maybe earn a little interest.

By the time the last measure reached its noisy conclusion, Peter was pulling hard, drawing sloppy seconds out of Neal, who was whimpering in pleasured distress. He let Neal’s spent cock slide out of his lips and wiped his sticky lips across his lover’s skin. Neal grumbled a bit and Peter kissed that delicious bit of no-man’s land where the smooth hard belly gave way to the thatch of now-sweaty pubes. He was energized.

“Come on.”

Neal was sleepy. “I just came, twice.” 

Peter tried to get Neal into a sitting position. “Come on, I want a shower.”

“And you want me to give you a blow job.”

“You get awfully cranky after sex.”

“And you’ve got way too much energy, old man.”

“Yeah, yeah. Come on – take a shower with me and I’ll forgive you for that ‘old man’ crack, eventually.”

He pulled and pushed and bullied him into the shower and let Neal give him a hand job instead, joking that he really didn’t have to work too hard. The pump – as it happened – was already primed. 

They didn’t bother dressing. Neal wrapped himself in a fluffy white terrycloth robe and climbed onto the couch in the living room. Peter put on sweats and a pullover. He made a bowl of popcorn and fetched a few bottles of beer; the best part of the evening was yet to come.

“You sleeping?” Peter put the beer on the coffee table and sat down on the couch with the bowl of popcorn.

“No. Just resting my eyes.”

“Do you know what happened today?”

Neal’s eyes snapped open and fixed on him like targeting lasers. “I was going to tell you when you came in, but you distracted me with the sex and everything.” He grinned. “I heard there was a briefing at the DoD. Secretary Gates and Admiral Mullen and something about a working group. I was taking witness statements when the briefing aired on C-SPAN.”

“You didn’t watch it?”

“Nope - haven’t had the chance. But I do know that the report was favorable. You should have heard Merkelson screaming at his computer.”

“Wanna watch the briefing? I DVR’d it.”

“You knew this was coming?”

Peter nodded. “Come on, it’s history in the making. The Secretary and Admiral Mullen will be testifying before Congress next week, but this is good stuff.” Peter pulled Neal against him, snuggle-close, picked up the remote and called up the program. 

The briefing room was small but it was hard to tell once Gates and Mullen came in and sat down. The Secretary of Defense spoke about the establishment of the Working Group, its leadership under the Department’s General Counsel and the Commander of the U.S. Army in Europe and then about the conclusions contained in the report.

The words were dry, precise and resonant. It was clear that the Secretary was highly in favor of the repeal and believed that despite the initial disruption in the Services, the repeal would have a long term and very lasting benefit, which Admiral Mullen confirmed.

As the briefing shifted to question and answer mode and the two men ceded the podium to the actual authors of the report, Neal sighed with happiness. “This is really going to happen.”

Peter smiled. “I told you it would, oh ye of little faith.”

He sipped his beer, and watched as the General Counsel of the Department of Defense, Jeh C. Johnson and Army General Ham deftly fielded questions about the report, the methodologies and the process of implementing the repeal. There was a brief pause in the questioning when General Ham requested that several members of the Working Group join him on the podium to answer some of the more detailed questions about the reporting and data analysis.

At this point, Peter stopped watching the screen and kept his eyes on Neal’s face. This was a moment he would cherish forever. As the cameras refocused on the new bodies in the chairs on stage, he plucked the bottle of beer out of Neal’s hand and set it aside. No point in having it spill all over the place.

The C-SPAN voice-over identified the new speakers as Marine Corps General Arthur Robinson and Admiral Peter Burke. Neal looked at him and then back at the television. “You…”

“Yeah, me. Now, shush.”

Peter pretended to watch his performance, but really kept an eye on Neal, who seemed to have forgotten how to blink.

There was a question from a New York Times reporter about troop morale and unit cohesion in the Navy, particularly when facing long deployments at sea, and he followed the cue from Admiral Mullen to answer the question.

The C-SPAN announcer again identified him as Admiral Peter Burke, and there seemed to be a breathless quality to it this time.

“This is a non-issue, Ma’am. Sailors are expected to comport themselves and treat their fellow service personnel with respect and dignity at all times, regardless of sexual orientation. Sexual misconduct is not limited to homosexual behavior and any service man or woman who violates the codes of conduct required during a deployment will be disciplined in accordance with the Uniform Code of Military Justice. The suggestion that homosexual behavior would be unconstrained because of the repeal of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell is borne of stereotyping and bias. The U.S. Navy has the best trained men and woman in the world, and regardless of their personal orientation, they serve because doing so is an honor and a privilege.”

The next few questions were anticlimactic, at least to Peter. The briefing ended and the C-SPAN logo with the next program appeared on the screen. He turned the television off and put the now-empty bowl and his beer on the coffee table.

“Before you say anything, my work was classified - Top Secret. I couldn’t tell you about my appointment to the Working Group. The seals came off this morning - a day early.”

He didn’t have to wonder what Neal was thinking. If he were in Neal’s shoes, he’d be furious at him.

“I was going to tell you tonight - I didn’t know I’d be part of the briefing until this morning. They gave me a copy of the questions the reporters were going to ask and my answer was personally vetted by Admiral Mullen. The Head of the god-damned Joint Chiefs approved my answer, word for word.”

“Peter - I don’t know what to say.”

“I’ve wanted to tell you so many times - I wanted to let you know that this hell was going to end. But I couldn’t. This is bigger than us, bigger than anything - and I couldn’t compromise the work.”

Neal’s eyes were huge, his cheeks flushed. “I understand. Intellectually, I do - it’s just …” Neal couldn’t finish the thought.

“Are you angry?”

“With you?”

Peter nodded, swallowing against a suddenly dry mouth. 

“How can I be? I know what classified means.” Neal kissed him. “I do wish I knew what you were doing, but it’s okay. It’s more than okay.” He kissed him again. “I’m so proud of you.”

“It’s not a done deal – the Administration wants this to go through Congress, full House and Senate approval - and getting sixty in the Senate is going to be difficult. There will be a waiting period too before implementation. You can’t just walk outside and shout to the world ‘I’m gay’ yet.”

They lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, lost in thought. Peter figured that Neal was enjoying the fantasy of telling his homophobic boss that he was gay. But Neal’s question to him was a surprise.

“You aren’t going to come out, are you?”

He sighed. “No, I can’t. ”

Neal shifted, resting his head against his shoulder. “If you hadn’t been on the Working Group, you would – wouldn’t you?”

Peter didn’t answer right away. “I wish I could tell you yes. I wish I could say that I’m brave enough to be one of the first ranking officers to come out, but I don’t know.” He braced himself on an elbow and looked down at Neal. “Are you disappointed?”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t, but the fact is, you can’t jeopardize the Working Group report. We don’t get to live our lives playing what-ifs and maybes. I love you, and I am proud of you.”

__________________

**11:59 pm, September 19, 2011**

He got up and went to retrieve the bottle of bubbly they had put away for this very moment and Neal set a pair of champagne flutes on the bar. It felt a little like New Year’s Eve. Peter kept an eye on his watch and the second hand swept up to its perpetual destination.

He looked over at Neal, who didn’t wear one and was counting down the seconds from the display on his smart phone.

“Six – five – four – three – two – one!”

No fireworks, no cheering crowd on the Mall. The only sound of celebration came from the cork as it was eased out of the bottle. He poured them each a glass.

“To you, Admiral Peter Burke – for helping make this happen.” Neal smiled at him over the rim of his glass.

And he offered a toast in response. “And to you, Commander Neal Caffrey – for having the courage of your convictions.” 

The champagne was dry and sharp – not unlike the moment. “I’ve been thinking, Neal.”

“Oh? Should I be concerned?” There was no real anxiety in that question.

“Remember when I said I couldn’t come out?”

Neal nodded. “Have you changed your mind – now that you’re being forced into retirement?”

“Yeah, sort of. I won’t make an announcement – I can’t do that. But I’m not going to live in the shadows any more. _We_ don’t have to live in the shadows. We go out, we don’t avoid places where we’d be seen and I introduce you properly.”

Neal chuckled at the last. “No one puts Baby in a corner?”

“Something like that. There’s no reason to hide. I’m sick of hiding, I’m sick of lying and I’m sick of denying what I am. And I’m not going to do it anymore.” As he said it out loud, Peter felt a weight lift off him. He’d been carrying it for so long; he never realized it was there.

Neal put his glass down and reached into his breast pocket. “I’m glad you feel that way.” He pulled out a box. “I feel like I should go down on one knee.”

Peter swallowed, stunned. “Neal. Oh God, Neal.”

“Do you want me to ask, or are you going for a preemptive strike?”

Peter shook his head, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. He went over to his desk and retrieved something, a small, square box. Not unlike the one in Neal’s hand. He held it out. “Great minds…”

“Think alike.” 

“Ask me, Neal. I want you to ask me.”

Neal licked his lips.

“Do that again and I’ll kiss the question out of you.”

“Peter Burke, will you marry me?”

“Yes, and Neal Caffrey, will you marry me?”

“Yes. Forever.” Neal handed him the box and when he opened it he couldn’t stifle a bark of laughter. At Neal’s slightly hurt look, he handed him his box, and then Neal laughed too.

They had given each other the same thing, their Annapolis class rings.

“Like you said, great minds do think alike.” Peter took Neal’s ring out and went to put it on.

“I had it engraved.” Neal then blushed.

Peter looked inside the ring band. _I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine._ He swallowed hard.

“Yours is engraved too, but not quite so eloquently.” Peter had their initials added in the classic intertwined style. “I am looking forward to putting a wedding ring on your finger.”

“How would you feel about a date in late March - early April?” Neal’s voice cracked on the last syllable.

Peter nodded, he was equally broken up. “Sounds good to me.”

Neal looked at him, and Peter thought there was a glimmer of mischief behind those eyes. “One question, Peter.”

“Yes?”

“Are we going to be ‘Burke-Caffrey’ or ‘Caffrey-Burke’?”

__________________

**Epilogue - Mid April, 2012**

“That’s all of it.” Peter watched the movers unload the last of the boxes and furniture into their new home. It was a fully attached brownstone, albeit with pale blue siding covering the old brick in the up-and-coming Fort Greene neighborhood in Brooklyn. This place was old - they both loved the vast change from the polished glass and marble of their respective apartments in Virginia, but the recent renovations made it perfect for just the two of them.

And a dog or two, according to Neal - who was already researching Golden Retriever breeders and rescue operations. Neal didn’t seem to care that Peter would be the one doing all the work, since he wasn’t the one starting a new job with a white shoe law firm in Manhattan. Peter didn’t mind, though. It was just what he wanted too.

Neal wrapped an arm around his waist and they contemplated the empty living room. “It seemed like so much more when we were packing.”

“I think it’s the lack of furniture.” Both of their apartments at the Concord had come furnished, and the only thing they brought with them was the television and bed from Peter’s place, which the movers had already set up.

“Shouldn’t take long to unpack.”

“Once we get some furniture.” Neal’s stomach rumbled and he clapped a hand over it.

“Wanna go get something to eat? Check out the neighborhood?”

“Sure, sounds good.” 

Peter barely remembered to grab his keys – it was a novel sensation to have physical locks and a front door. 

Neal looked vaguely lost – he patted his head and chuckled. “It feels so strange to be going out without cover.”

“Yeah.” He had to agree. Life after thirty-plus years in the Navy was going to be filled with plenty of habits to break. 

The late afternoon was a little cool - Spring was still a few weeks away in New York. Back in DC, the cherry blossoms had come and gone already. Here, the leaves were just barely in bloom.

He locked up and joined Neal, who was waiting for him on the sidewalk. This stretch of DeKalb Avenue was mostly a residential neighborhood and apartment buildings shared walls with single family homes all along the block. The sidewalk was crowded, with parents with strollers and baby carriages and small children tagging along, older kids on skateboards, and quite a few senior citizens. It seemed like half of Brooklyn was out and enjoying the day.

They headed in the same direction as most of the foot traffic, walking shoulder to shoulder, almost as if they were on parade formation.

Neal bumped him - a little bit of a hipcheck. Peter looked at him, puzzled. Neal smiled and held out his hand.

He grinned back as he took it, weaving their fingers together. They walked that way for a few blocks, wordless, happy. A small boy, maybe three years old, came barreling at them, chasing a red ball. Neal stepped to one side and lifted _their_ hands and the child ran beneath the arch they made. He got his ball and ran back to a frazzled young woman pushing an empty stroller.

“Jamie, what to do you say to these nice men?”

The little boy turned around and lisped “excuse me.” He smiled at them, waved and then ducked behind his mother, suddenly shy. 

The woman smiled at them too as she passed, the little boy hugging his ball and clinging to her hand. “Have a good afternoon, gentlemen.”

They continued to walk hand in hand, perfectly at ease together in the April afternoon sunshine.

__

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> I’d like to share some of my research and sources:
> 
> [Servicemember’s Legal Defense Network](http://www.sldn.org/pages/about-dadt) \- Timeline for the history of the Act and its repeal. The SLDN is “a non-partisan, non-profit, legal services, watchdog and policy organization dedicated to ending discrimination against and harassment of military personnel affected by "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" (DADT). We work to end DADT, to ensure parity for LGBT service members, and to provide free, confidential legal services to all those impacted by DADT and related discrimination.”
> 
> [Wikipedia entry for Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Don%27t_ask,_don%27t_tell). 
> 
> [The actual briefing give by Secretary of Defense, Robert Gates and the Head of the Joint Chiefs, Admiral Mike Mullen](http://www.c-spanvideo.org/program/296799-2), with statements and Q&A participation by the heads of the Working Group, Jeh C. Johnson, General Counsel for the DoD and Army General Carter Ham. I recommend watching if you have an hour and a half. (Unfortunately, C-SPAN cut the section where Admiral Burke spoke).
> 
> [The New York Times DADT Topic Page](http://topics.nytimes.com/top/reference/timestopics/subjects/d/dont_ask_dont_tell/index.html). If you have a subscription to the NYT, you can browse through 17 years of news on DADT.
> 
> And quite serendipitously, I was channel surfing the other night and came across the terrific HBO documentary, [The Strange History of Don’t Ask Don’t Tell](http://www.hbo.com/documentaries/the-strange-history-of-dont-ask-dont-tell/index.html), which follows the legislative efforts to repeal the Act, and fills in a lot of the information that I’ve glossed over here, particularly the Congressional endgame.
> 
> A few other notes:
> 
> The incident that Neal describes when he’s talking with Peter at _Mozzie’s_ did happen. And there have been other, equally egregious dismissals under DADT, such as people who’ve done work in service member’s _private_ homes and seen letters and magazines and then filed reports.
> 
> Where Neal comments about Washington _“It’s not the Athens of the Potomac. Not anymore”_ , Peter had replied: _“I don’t think it ever was. Even FDR actively condoned the use of homosexual stalking horses to uncover gays in the military.”_. In 1919, when FDR was Undersecretary of the Navy, he authorized an undercover investigation in which enlisted men were “were engaged by a secret Navy unit to entrap homosexuals around the Newport, Rhode Island, naval base, where complaints had surfaced of widespread solicitation.
> 
> "Astonishingly, these enlisted men were actually ordered to perform oral sex on suspected homosexuals in the Navy and others in their circle including a prominent clergyman.” [The Chicago Lampoon](http://chicagolampoon.blogspot.com/2011/01/fdrs-war-on-homosexuals-in-military.html), FDR’s War on Homosexuals in the Military, quoting from Jonathan Adler’s _The Defining Moment_ , a 2006 biography of FDR’s early career (p. 48).
> 
> One of the sad facts is that even though DADT is repealed, there is still concerns (which is something of a weasel-word in this context). Bigoted commanders may still try to use the Conduct Unbecoming and Sexual Misconduct sections of the Uniform Code of Military Justice to have homosexuals removed from the Service.
> 
> Almost fourteen thousand (source: [Wikipedia, Servicemembers Legal Defense Network](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Don't_ask,_don't_tell#Number_of_discharges)) men and women have been dismissed from the U.S. Military because of their orientation. The cost of these dismissals, usually as General Discharge, is incalculable, both in loss of experience and to the dismissed service member. A General Discharge has ramifications far beyond the loss of position. It tells the world that the service member’s separation was under a cloud, and in fact, when such separation happens, the service member is actually required to sign documents acknowledging that "substantial prejudice in civilian life" may be encountered under a general discharge. (Dep't of the Army, Reg. 635-200, [Active Duty Enlisted Administrative Separations (PDF)](http://www.usapa.army.mil/pdffiles/r635_200.pdf)). 
> 
> While dismissed service members will be able to reenlist, the question of the rights of older personnel, those who have aged out and have suffered years and decades of discrimination remains to be answered.
> 
> But despite the grim statistics and threat of reinstatement of the ban (which is unlikely, even if there is a Republican administration), the fact is that as of 00:00 on 20 September 2011, no U.S. service member can be discharged simply because he or she is gay. 
> 
> A simple thing, but something so terribly profound. This is something to celebrate.


End file.
